Doubting Gets You Places
by ashestoashesanddusttodust
Summary: Tim's never regretted his decision to go to Barbara Gordon when Batman began to fall apart after Robin's death. He does reserve the right to complain when strange men in masks begin to use him as an intermediary for Oracle though. JayTim
1. Chapter 1

**Doubting Gets You Places  
**

**A Word**: This one started as a dream and promptly grew into the longest fic I've written yet. Posting in parts because it's long, and I'm still writing. AU.

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Batman saves Gotham. Every night and every day. Tim knows this, he's seen it. In the news and with his own eyes. The city needs him, and _he_ needs Robin. It's something that becomes abundantly clear after Jason- After Jason.

Tim watches as Batman descends into brutal violence. Getting more vicious than even Jason at his worst. Getting closer and closer to that line that Tim believes -with everything he has- Batman should _never_ cross. He doesn't think the city would ever recover if Batman killed. Others? Sure, Tim can see any of the others crossing that line, but not Batman.

Which is why Tim's determined to save Batman.

Batman needs a Robin. Bruce Wayne needs a son. Tim has all the information he needs to travel to New York and find Dick Grayson. He's ready to leave and bring the man back to where he needs to be when doubt creeps up on him.

Tim knows Bruce Wayne and his family better than anyone else in the city. Maybe even the world. He's not privy to their private affairs though. He knows there's something sour between Dick and Bruce. Something strained that's kept Nightwing out of Gotham for a while. There's no guarantee that if Tim goes straight to Dick he'll listen. There's a very good chance the man will turn him away. Won't even listen to what some strange thirteen year old boy has to say.

Tim bites his lip and looks at the maps and careful directions he has. Hand hovering over the tickets he's already purchased for the trip before dropping with a sudden realization.

Dick is in New York, and there's someone else who could help Tim with Dick _and_ Bruce. And Barbara Gordon is a lot closer than New York.

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Tim spends his sixteenth birthday cold and wet as he waits on a rooftop. Camera pointed at the window of a particular room in the building across the street as he waits for the light to come on. He's got photos of the mayor's aide coming into the room. Some decent ones of the woman he's paying in secrets taking his clothes off. He's even got a few dark photos of them having sex that can be enhanced with the right programing if they need blackmail in the future. What he really needs though is a picture of the man handing over a thumb drive to the woman. He has three from previous meetings, but the more he has over a period of time the better.

The light snaps on and Tim's ready. Watching for the drive to make an appearance when something in the air behind him makes him tense. Something there that wasn't there before. Tim spins on his knees. Camera clutched to his chest and finger ready to trigger the flash that will give him at least a few seconds to assess the situation.

There's a man leaning casually against the wall of the covered stairwell Tim uses to get up to the roof. Dressed in the sort of black armor that Tim's not used to seeing outside of movies and television despite having been the primary source of information for mercenary movement in the city for years now. He almost blends into the shadows. Almost, except for the bright red, full face helmet he wears.

Tim swallows and doesn't move. He's sure that the dirty dealings of the particular politician he's following don't extend to hiring muscle. At least, not yet. So he's fairly confident that the man is not here for that. Which of course leaves far too many other options open for Tim's comfort. Especially since that helmet qualifies the man as a Mask.

Tim's had ample opportunity to develop a theory about the type of person who would wear a mask, and so far he's only developed two categories for them. Hero and psychopath.

"Oh, don't stop on my account," the man waves at Tim. A gracious gesture that's at odds with how many guns are strapped to his body. The armor, mask, and gear are all new to Tim. He's never seen this man before, which means he's a new player in town. Even the older mercs who want a change keep some stuff from their old personas. Some hint or clue that can link their current persona to their old one. Banking on the built up reputation to get their new start. "I can wait for you to- finish."

There's an obvious leer in the last word that Tim carefully doesn't respond to in any way. It's a probing tactic to get him off guard. He's dealt with enough of it over the years that he barely even acknowledges it anymore. Tim doesn't turn his back on the man. The aide is long gone by now and the woman as well. "I have enough," Tim says and shifts his weight to ease the way they're going numb. He's very careful with his next words. "Did you need something?"

"Yeah," the man straightens up and the playful air slides away as he stalks forward. Tim goes tense and hyper alert. He's not much to look at physically, but that works to his advantage a lot. Not many people think he can defend himself as well as he can. A regimen of Oracle approved training that Tim's been going through since he first appeared at Barbara Gordon's door has changed that. He can't go head to head with most of the really big guys, or the really well armed ones, but he can sure get in a good paralyzing hit to let him get away. A useful tactic in his line of work.

Problem is, there aren't many areas that Tim can hit as the man crouches down in front of him. An easy motion of muscles that he makes look natural. That's not something that's easy to do. Tim knows that from experience. Several months of Connor Hawke trying to turn Tim's natural teenage clumsiness into the almost dancers gait he has, followed by intense refining from Dinah Lance. Tim twitches to hide the way his thumb slips down to hit a button that turns his very expensive camera into a camcorder. "I hear Oracle's the go to man for information here."

"_She_ is," Tim answers warily. It's not a secret that Tim works for the Oracle, but it's also not something that any of her information gatherers like to advertise. It's especially not something that Tim likes to put out there. Not when he is one of the few people she uses to know her name and face.

"Well, I'm in the need of information," the man sounds amused again as he leans forward, and that shouldn't be as easy a move as he makes it look, "and would really like it if I could get a hold of _her_."

"You don't contact Oracle," Tim's reply is automatic as his fingers twitch on his camera. There's no light or anything to give away that he's recording the conversation, but he has a feeling that the man knows it anyway. "But I can let her know you're looking. Got a name she can call you by?"

"Yep," the man moves to his feet in one swift motion. Smooth and without any sign of the numbness that Tim would've had if he tried to crouch like that. "Red Hood. Looking forward to speaking to your boss."

Tim blinks and the man is gone. He doesn't bother trying to look for him. Just presses the buttons to upload everything he's taken tonight through a wireless connection to wherever Oracle sends this stuff. He grabs his bag and carefully places the camera in its case. Looking around to make sure he left nothing behind before leaving.

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Tim would usually go straight to the Tower after a job. Spend some time helping Babs go through data or wiring up whatever new toy she's bought since he was last there. He doesn't trust that he's not being followed though.

His phone vibrates in his pocket but Tim ignores it as he gets off the bus and walks to the place he's calling home. A brownstone in a well-to-do area that would call the police in a matter of seconds if anyone was awake to see his ragged hoodie and worn jeans as he walks through it. Tim lets himself in and isn't surprised that he doesn't have to let his eyes adjust to darkness. Light spills into the foyer from the living room with soft sound.

Tim drops his bag at the foot of the stairs and goes into the room.

Jack Drake is passed out in his wheelchair in front of the TV. A mostly empty bottle of whiskey next to him on the table. No glass in sight. Tim looks at his dad and wonders all over again how someone who can't leave the house can be more distant than someone who used to only be home two months total out of a year.

He eases into the room. Avoiding the places that creak and circling around to approach from behind. Reaching as far as his arm will go to snatch up the bottle before backing into the kitchen. He walks up to the sink and eyes the bottle. There's so little left of what Tim knows was a full bottle just yesterday. He takes a swig of it, grimacing at the burn of it going down his throat, before emptying the rest into the sink. The bottle goes into the trash and Tim backtracks.

The TV stays on, but he flips the light out and makes his way back to the stairs in the dimness. Leaving his father to sleep it off in his chair.

The upstairs is all Tim's. Jack had made noises at first about having the master bedroom as a reward for doing well in physical therapy. He'd said a lot of things in the beginning though and Tim's long past resenting the way those things turned to lies. It's been a year since his last kept appointment and his therapist has stopped trying to get him to attend. There's something there that Tim noticed in the missed calls he'd listened to before his father deleted them. Something in Winter's voice that almost made Tim go out and check, but the closed look in his father's eyes had been more deterrent than Tim liked to admit.

As a consequence, no one but Tim ever touches the top floor. Which makes it strange to reach the top and see the line of light under his bedroom door. Tim never leaves the light on. Tim lets his bag dangle from his hand as he creeps up to it. There's no sound inside and he debates with himself as he reaches for the knob.

His fingers rest lightly on it as he fishes his phone out. Five texts from one of Oracle's proxy numbers wait for him. The last one sent mere seconds ago.

_He's in your home._

Tim feels vindicated in skipping the Tower as he pulls the door open and steps in. Phone in one hand, thumb pressed against the panic button that will have Babs sending everything she has his way if she doesn't already have them scrambling.

Red Hood is on his bed. Boots flaking dirt and small stones on the sheets and arms folded under his head. Looking utterly relaxed as he follows Tim with his head. Tim ignores him and goes to his desk to put his bag away. Sending the camera tucked onto of one of his computer screens a reassuring smile before turning around.

"It takes more than an hour for her to check her voicemail, you know?" Tim lies through his teeth.

Red Hood seems to hear it and snorts. "Right. Not why I'm here though, baby snitch."

"Oh?" Tim prods with the sort of smile he used to use at rich galas and charity events when everyone still called him Timmy. The one he uses around the occasional high society folks who spot him and rush over to give their condolences about his father's, 'condition.'

"You seem pretty smart. Considering," Red Hood's silence and lazy head tilt seem to encompass the entirety of the brownstone and the neighborhood. The equipment that Oracle hadn't had to pay for. The spotless room that doesn't really fit the third and fourth-hand clothes Tim is still wearing. "And I really just need a few quick answers tonight. I can wait for your boss lady to contact me on the rest."

"I'm not really equipped for independent contracting," Tim narrows his eyes at the man. Information isn't free, except for a select crowd of people. It's how Babs keeps her gear current and how Tim plans to live once his father's drunk his company into the ground.

"Oracle can add it to my bill," Red Hood goes still in a way that is rather effectively threatening. The stillness of his body drawing the eye to the obvious muscle of his frame and the weapons that are on it. A silent way of pointing out how very easy it would be to kill him. "The Joker."

Tim blinks, taken back and a bit of trivia that he'd been repressing on the ride home comes back. Because Tim has been abusing the case files that Oracle has access to for years and soaking up everything he's read, and the little fact about the last time someone used the name Red Hood was one of those things. "Yes?"

"Where is he?"

"Arkham," Tim frowns and studies the body language of the man in front of him. He's tense and waiting. Aggressive in a way that has nothing to do with threatening Tim. "That's information anyone could get. Why ask me something like that?"

"Because anyone on the street can make a wrong guess, and the docs don't like advertising when their pet psychos get loose," which is true. Usually an alert only goes out after they've done something news worthy. Not many people like to point that fact out so blatantly though, and it's not something someone completely new to the city would pick up on right away. Red Hood rolls his head back and forth. The tension changing in a subtle way that Tim can't really place. "Robin."

Tim goes still in a way that's probably telling, but he really doesn't give a damn. Red Hood has managed to link two names together in a way that Tim doesn't like in any way at all. "What about her?"

Red Hood is looking at him. Head up and off the pillow and tilted. He's silent for a long enough time that Tim starts to feel the need to fidget. Nervous energy building up in him as a tiny voice begins to panic in the back of his mind, 'He knows! He knows, he knows!'

"Nothing. Never mind that," Red Hood rolls to his feet and stalks up to Tim. There are white lenses where the eyes should be and they glint eerily as he looks down at him. His hand moves and Tim flinches back as a gloved hand catches his chin. Thumb pressing against his lip in a way that's too familiar for Tim to allow to set as a precedence. Tim snaps his hand up. Hitting hard at the weakest part of the wrist and slides out of the chair. Getting around Red Hood and nearer to the door.

Red Hood doesn't react at all. His hand is a little limp as he brings it up to nose level, as if he's smelling it, "Waste of perfectly good whiskey, baby snitch."

Red Hood folds himself out of Tim's window without making another sound, and Tim watches warily until he can make himself move to latch it shut. His last words linger in the air like an endearment and Tim has a feeling that -regardless of Oracle's decision- he's going to see a lot more of this new mask.

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Tim's unsurprised that he's right when a shadow detaches itself in an alley and he finds himself almost running over Red Hood in his effort to get away from the very large men who are chasing him.

"Get in there," Red Hood nearly tosses Tim into a door hiding in the shadows he'd come from and Tim falls halfway down the stairs that start immediately beyond it. Tim hisses in pain as he sorts himself out, his bag falling all the way down to thump up against a door that looks very secure for the area.

It's one of the bolt holes that Oracle hasn't been able to track down. Hood moves so fast and so frequently that keeping tabs on him is nearly impossible. The gear he has is advanced enough that bugs do very little to help her efforts. Something that's been annoying Babs for the weeks she's been exchanging information with the man. Tim limps down to get his bag and gets an eyeful of the security, debating if it'll be worth it to try something while Hood is occupied.

The sound of fighting spills down the stairs. Screams and grunts, but no shots fired yet which is encouraging. Tim has noticed that Hood tends to use his guns as a last resort in the few fights he's witnessed. Unless he's angry. Then, all bets seem to be off.

Tim's seen that once with a man caught taking little girls home, and never wants to see it again.

The man's agenda is another mystery that no one has been able to figure out yet. He jumps back and forth. Going across the full spectrum of responses seemingly just to confuse everyone paying attention to the newcomer. He patrols the streets like a vigilante. Taking out minor crimes and preventing attacks. He won't involve the police though, and his methods are brutal. He kills sometimes, quickly.

He'll turn right around and deal with the gangs in the same night he saves people though. Cut profits and jobs with rackets. Sell information and tech to rivals until they implode and he, somehow, always comes out on top. Staking out a rough hewn territory in the worst parts of Gotham and controlling it like any other gang.

He buys a complete picture of the current locations of the criminals most likely to wind up in Arkham from Oracle, but doesn't ask anything about them. Not their methods or their past. He doesn't approach any of them. Seems to go out of his way to not be around them at all in fact. Which makes him either the most cautious criminal in the city or the best budding new name in the city.

It's still up for debate pending Batman's observations.

Aside from that first night, Hood hasn't asked a single thing about any of the Batman's people. Has done an incredible job of avoiding the man himself, and that's something that's really starting to worry Babs. Tim's heard more than a few one sided conversations to know she isn't the only one.

The noise dies down and Tim hesitantly starts up the stairs. Grimacing at the way his right knee throbs and trembles when he puts weight on it. That's going to be an absolute _joy_ getting home on.

"You hurt?" Tim looks up to find Hood in the top door. The man looks down before pulling the outer door closed and activating a lock that looks better than the door. The stairs and bottom landing aren't really wide enough for two and Tim shuffles awkwardly as Hood comes down. Trying to push back against the wall to let the man pass.

Hood doesn't do the decent thing and turn sideways to get past him. He barely breaks his stride as he pushes Tim back, one arm sweeping around Tim and pulling him up off his feet. It's an unsteady half-lift that has Tim grabbing folds of the leather jacket he's just noticing as Hood continues down.

"I can walk!" Tim snaps and tries not to move too fast or much. He can walk, but he's not stupid enough to think he can catch himself if Hood drops him now. The jacket is soft and warm under Tim's hands. It's as worn and old as Hood's gear is new. Tim fixes it in his mind as something to possibly look into.

"Sure," Hood is amused and arrogant as he keys in a code and the door opens onto what looks like a small armory. One that's in the process of being moved which explains his nonchalance in showing Tim in. "Doesn't mean you should, baby snitch."

Tim glares until he's dumped onto a table. Next to a pile of munition boxes and a map of the city that's been marked up. Lines of territory and operations that Tim knows because that's his job. Patrol routes of vigilantes overlaying it that Tim recognizes only parts of. Tim's wondering where Hood got that information from when he's distracted by a tug at his belt.

"What are you doing!?" Tim whips his head back around and grabs Hood's hands. Pulling them away from his zipper and trying to scoot back against a few boxes that don't give him any room at all.

Hood's chuckle is low and rich, the mask tilts to the side in a way that Tim's starting to equate with playfulness on the man's part. "I'm hot for your scrawny body, pretty baby," his voice drips with false lust and laughter as he pulls his hands back and takes a step away. Turning to open a container and rummage through it. "I can't fix something I can't see, Tim. So drop them and let me look at that knee."

Tim scowls at the man's back and reluctantly does as he asks only because his knee had given a white hot flair of pain when Hood bumped it moving away. One that promises to get a lot worse if he doesn't do something about it. Tim's wearing boxers underneath, and they're not even one of the novelty ones that he's sure he'll die in one day just to give the coroner at his autopsy a laugh. He pushes the jeans off under his knees, letting them catch on the custom boots from Babs that'd been the only present he got on his birthday.

There's a nasty looking black and blue color rising around his right knee. It looks to be deep under the flesh. Nothing looks deformed and nothing twinges as Tim runs his fingers along the back of his knee. It's not too serious then, hopefully.

"Nasty," Hood says conversationally. A bundle of white and a tube smacking down next to Tim's leg. He's lost his gloves and Tim nearly jerks as his hands are pushed away and Hood's calloused fingers begin a much more clinical examination. They're slick with something that smells appropriately medicinal that gets rubbed into his skin as Hood moves. Probing the extent of the injury and dragging hisses out of Tim. "I shot someone in the kneecaps last week. Wonder if this is what it looks like when it's done healing. Never stuck around long enough to find out before."

Phil Cumberlon, a conman who got his cash addicting high schoolers to the drugs he pushed by giving freebies out like candy. Huntress had been pleased with that spot of violence. "I think," Tim grimaces as Hood works his hands down into his pants. One hand cupping his calf and the other flexing his foot. It's uncomfortable only when his foot is fully flexed. The extreme shift in muscle disturbing his knee. "I think humans don't heal that neatly."

"Hm," Hood hums and lets go of his foot. The hand on his calf running down to the top of his boot. Resting there and flexing. Two fingers rubbing against the stiff boot material, and two more testing the muscle of his leg. It's not something that Tim would expect from a doctor and the clinical nature of Hood's attention falls away in an instant. "No, I guess it wouldn't," Hood sounds distracted, and his mask is angled slightly higher than Tim's knee. "You're not as scrawny as I thought you'd be. Must be all the running."

Hood's hand comes up in something that Tim can only call a _caress_. Reaching for what proves to be a knee brace and turning clinical again. Tim is staring down at the man and his face is red. He can feel the burn of that blush down to his _soul_. "You- What?"

The wrap goes on tight and Tim holds still through the pain of it. It's not comfortable, but he knows the constriction will make getting home so much easier. Hood finishes quickly and doesn't pause as he runs both his hands up Tim's thigh. Rough fingers digging into the muscle and stopping just under the leg of his boxers. Squeezing as Hood leans close to Tim's face, voice low, "All that running, pretty boy, gave you a pair of legs I'd love to wrap around myself."

A warm hand cups Tim's chin, the rough pad of a thumb swiping over his bottom lip in a slow caress. Tim's _ears_ feel nuclear hot and he knows he's gaping. It's only when Hood leans closer that Tim reacts. Shoves two fingers into the indent at the bottom of Hood's neck and pushes. The armor takes the brunt of the shove but the area is vulnerable enough that the man staggers back enough for Tim to get to his feet and pull his pants up. Fumbling the zipper as he tries to keep weight off his injured leg and leaving the belt alone.

His bag bumps against his back as he limps to the door. A simple thing to open from inside. Hood is laughing behind him as Tim grimly makes his way up the stairs. His voice floating out and filling the stairwell, "You're welcome!"

The air of the alley cools some of the heat in Tim's face, and he ignores the unconscious bodies as he sets out to the closest bus stop. There's a trace of salt on his lips that Tim doesn't realize is there until it's gone. The taste lingering on his tongue long after he gets home.

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Tim's dreams are nebulous things. Flashes of solid forms or sensations. There is no coherent story to them like other people claim they have. Just bits of the things he's been working on or the problems he's been dealing with. It's always been this way for him.

He dreams of the arc of a body flipping through the air. Sometimes it's a boy, most times it's a grown man. He dreams of mocha colored skin under his hands. Soft and covering steel that moves too fluidly to be real. He wakes up to the feeling of a thumb on his lips. Hard and salty.

It's not the first time Tim's blearily made his way to the bathroom down the hall. The only room in his home that he didn't put up Oracle's surveillance equipment in. Tim shuts the door behind him and sinks to the floor. Hand already tight around his erection and seconds away from coming. Remembering the heat of Hood's hands and the pressure of his thumb against Tim's lips. Like a kiss.

Tim's head thunks back hard against the door as he comes. It's a fitting gesture so Tim does it again and again, "Tim, you idiot."

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There's hot chocolate waiting for him when he heals enough to make the trip out to the Clocktower. With marshmallows and a tin of cookies that are homemade and most certainly not made by Babs.

"You bugged me again," Tim accuses as he snatches a few of the chocolate chip ones from the tin. This right here is the one and only reason to introduce himself to Gotham's vigilante's the he hasn't been able to argue away. Alfred Pennyworth was an absolute god of baked goods.

"Your suspicious gaps in reports forced me to," Babs replies as she watches him eat. Her own drink mostly empty as she props her head on her hand. The look in her eyes is calculating and fascinated. Tim's only reasonably sure what each emotion is for as he crams another cookie into his mouth. Unable to stop himself from losing all traces of civility and manners.

"Lies," Tim says when he takes a deep drink of chocolate. "You're speaking absolute lies right now. There are no gaps in my reports."

"Not obvious ones," Babs admits, "but it doesn't take a genius to see something's up with you."

There may or may not be innuendo in that sentence, and if Tim were to point it out Babs would blame Dick for it. Tim doesn't point that out because he can feel where this talk is going and he already doesn't like it.

"I thought you liked good boys, Tim," Babs smile is sharp and honest. Teasing and not at all judgmental as she pokes into territory that Tim's only just now beginning to come to terms with. "What's with the sudden interest in the bad boy?"

"It's-" Complicated? Try horrifyingly easy. Tim's well aware of his unfortunate reactions to anything that can be considered positive attention. He's had most of his short life to understand the hows and whys of his nature, and Babs had been there for a good portion of it so she knows as well. There's no need to go over it again. "Not the first time exactly."

"No," and her smile dims at the memory. The pictures that Tim knows she never could bring herself to destroy when Tim first brought his collection of photos to her. "I guess not."

They both drink in silence for a few seconds. Letting the unspoken name slip by them. A moment of silence and respect.

"He's dangerous though," Babs starts again. Sliding past the teasing and getting to the heart of the matter. "We still don't even know who he is, and his motives..."

Red Hood's motives are becoming clearer by the day, and the direction they lead in is not pleasant. The map in the safehouse was only the beginning. Hood has been showing up around the other vigilantes more and more. Trailing them on patrols and taunting them. Poking and prodding at weaknesses that he shouldn't know. Slinging out information that really shouldn't be available to anyone outside of their very small and insular circle.

"I know," Tim says and pretends to himself that the look in Babs eyes is sympathy. That she isn't wondering if she's looking at a potential enemy as they finish their drinks.

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"We," Hood says as he _tosses_ someone -and this is Tim's fault for not staying in the loop enough to realize there's a new gang moving in on territory he thought safe- head first into the side of a dumpster, "have to stop meeting like this."

Tim bites his lip and flinches back from a boy who looks a little younger than he is. The boy charges headfirst at the hint of weakness and Tim spins. Hooking his legs out from under him and ripping the baseball bat he'd been wielding right out of his hands. A careful kick to the temple puts him out before Tim has to deal with a charging elephant of a man. "But you'd get bored otherwise."

Tim's not sure why he's fighting. His usual method is to distract and run. Get away from the danger quickly and without starting an accidental grudge that might effect his work in the future by beating someone up.

Hood's laughing. Loud and brash and carefree. It twists something in Tim's chest as he dodges a wild punch and breaks the bat against the man's face. Stepping back as he falls unconscious to the ground at his feet. Two more gang members circle Hood. Wary but too stupid to run like most of the rest have already done. Tim watches as a knife flickers out in the streetlight of the empty block.

"I'd _never_ get bored of you, baby," Hood shoots back. His fist flying out and taking out the armed kid, spinning with the momentum to backhand the second viciously. The boy bouncing off the concrete of an apartment complex before slumping to the ground.

Hood looks around the street. Satisfaction and obvious relish pouring from his body language as he stops to eye the people Tim took out by himself. Not as many as Hood, but Tim's never felt any compulsion to compete with anyone in a fight over body counts.

The noise he makes as he kicks aside one part of the shattered bat makes Tim flush though. Stupid pride going straight to his head as Hood steps closer. Too close for Tim to think right as he blurts, "You're not exactly what people consider a people person, Hood. Some might even go so far as to say you _avoid_ them."

"Well," Hood reels Tim in with one arm around his back. His other coming up to cradle Tim's face in a way that Tim's been dreaming about far too much recently. Thumb rubbing softly and insistently against his lips. "You're just special."

Tim doesn't think. Not anymore, he's been thinking since his knee healed enough for him to take on more jobs and it's not gotten him anywhere. He closes his eyes and tilts his head into it. Pressing against Hood's thumb like he wants to press against the man's lips. Treating the gesture like the kiss it's meant to be, and reeling at the growl that rips it's way free from Hood. His arm tightening around Tim. Almost grinding them together as he rips his hand away.

Tim's eyes fly open to see Hood fumbling at the bottom edge of his mask. Fingers going up to just under the left side of his jaw and pressing in. There's a faint click and seams appear in the side of the helmet. Tim holds still in Hood's arms as they widen enough for him to slide a finger in and tug. He doesn't realize he's not breathing until the siren wail of a cop car shatters the night.

"Next time," Hood says as he reluctantly lets Tim go, the helmet sealing closed again with another nearly silent click. Sliding his entire body against Tim's once before backing off. "I'm going to see what you taste like, baby."

It's almost as much of a threat as it is a promise. Tim doesn't stick around to watch the man fade into the shadows. The sirens are closing in and Tim has to run to not get caught up in this mess.

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Tim wakes up to a report marked urgent from Oracle.

It details a break in at the Cave.

No footage of the culprit, no sign of anything taken.

Just things appearing where they shouldn't. At least as far as Tim can decipher from the few details. Batman's got something big going on, again, and he's not sharing all the info he has with Oracle. Again.

Tim hopes this isn't a sign of something that's going to be as big as the mess that almost ended with Robin dead.

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"Hey, baby snitch."

It says something that Tim knows it's Hood even before he opens his mouth based only off of how his chest feels pressing against Tim's back. Tim sighs and snaps one last picture before lowering his camera. Letting his head rest on the little wall he's behind. "Red Hood. What can I do for you today?"

"Hm," Hood's hum is thoughtful and lewd in all it's potential. A hot breath of air rushes over Tim's neck making him shiver violently before freezing. Soft lips press against the thin skin of his neck and a nose nuzzles against his hair. "You could let me make good on my promise."

Red Hood isn't wearing the distinctive helmet that's getting him noticed by everyone in the city. The thought is heavier than it should be. Tim swallows and feels his cheeks heating up as he remembers Hood's promise the last time they'd met.

"Turn around, Tim," Hood whispers. One hand plucking his camera from his hands and -pointedly- turning it away from them both. "Let me see those pretty blues of yours."

Tim turns. An awkward movement because Hood isn't backing away one bit. Forcing Tim to brush and rub against him until he's sprawled out, almost on his back, below the smirking man. And Tim's breath catches hard in his throat.

He's wearing a domino that does little to hide his features.

"There you are," gloved fingers drag across Tim's lip in the only type of kiss they'd shared before, but Tim's not thinking about kisses or masks or anything besides the Case that he's heard about and never seen. The one he's always imagined as an imposing column of glass.

There's differences. Lines and fat burned away. Sharper cheeks and a streak of pure white right at his temple. Enough to make anyone doubt. Right up until Hood's smirk turns into a grin and if he hadn't done that. If he hadn't smiled that _smile_...

"How," Tim knows that smile. He knows that face. Separate he could have written it off, together they're a damning combination that leaves no doubt in Tim's mind. Only confusion and shock and more than a bit of fear. Tim shakes his head and blinks hard at the man above him. Word slipping from his mouth before he can stop them. Plaintive and lost sounding even to his own ears. "You can't be. You're dead."

Hood, _Jason Todd_, freezes. His smile wiped out in the blink of an eye and his body going tense even as his soft lips part in surprise. It lasts for a small eternity before Jason's face hardens and the hand on Tim's face starts to hurt. "What do you know?"

"I," Tim flinches and knows there's going to be bruises on his face in the morning as Jason, _Red Hood_, yanks him up in an interrogation pose. One designed to be as uncomfortable as possible and push truth out from him quicker. "I know, knew, you."

"The fuck you did!" Hood shakes him and there's anger, so much of it, contorting his face. Tim's caught up in it. In the rage he's only ever seen from a distance and turned onto others. Staring as Hood slams him back into the wall. His head bouncing off the concrete. "How much? How much do you know?!"

The first slam has Tim seeing stars. The second makes his vision swim. Everything. Tim knows everything, and he tries to tell Hood that. Tries to open his mouth but a third slam draws out a pained cry that Tim can't keep in, "Jason stop!"

Tim's free in an instant. He curls up and clutches his head and works on breathing. Bright spots dancing across his vision in time with his thudding heart. By the time he can see past his own pain he's alone.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Doubting Gets You Places  
**

**A Word**: Not sure why I'm putting this up here since I know for a fact that I'm going to have to cut huge parts out of it in order to fit the guidelines starting in the next chapter.

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Tim calls into school with the flu that night. He sends Babs his pictures, downs several aspirin, and goes to sleep before he can convince himself he really should get a heating pad or something. He's going to regret it in the morning but Tim doesn't really care.

He wakes up around noon the next day and proves himself right when his back screams at him for rolling over. Tim ignores it and the insistent buzzing from his phone to stay under the covers for the rest of the day and deliberately not think. About anything for the rest of the week.

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Tim gets a day to feel sorry for himself.

Babs manages to get into Tim's computer systems. As in, she chooses to use the backdoors that Tim pretends he's allowing her to have. The resulting noise wakes his father, and Tim has to drag his sorry butt down to assure him everything is fine and, no, he didn't get into a fight. Really. He fell down the rope climb at school and is taking the day off to recover.

He then gets to have a _lovely_ conversation with Babs about meeting informants off her camera grid. She threatens to tell Nightwing about him twice which is Babs' way of showing her worry. Throwing her mother-hennish sometimes boyfriend at people she knows are hurt. She only laughs a little at how red Tim's face gets with the threats.

The question of how Hood got into and out of one of Oracle's highly monitored -she might not see in it, but she damn well would see who went in- blind spots unseen is a question he bites back. Giving her the name of a man Tim's fairly sure is either floating in the harbor or retired in Mexico instead. Jason Todd's name is heavy in his mouth as she hangs up. Unspoken.

Tim tells himself it's because he doesn't have a solid confirmation yet. No proof to back up his visual confirmation of an older man who resembles a dead boy. He has no facts to give her, only gut instinct and that's simply not good enough.

He almost believes himself.

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By all rights, Stephanie Brown shouldn't go to the same school as Timothy Drake. The school district doesn't even cover Wayne manor though, and, apparently, Bruce let his adopted daughter choose her own school. Tim's always sensed Babs' sneaky hand in the girl choosing the school that Tim fought hard to attend himself. A completely average high school with poor attendance and a convenient location for those who might want to tour the bad parts of Gotham before returning home.

Babs has done good on keeping her word about not sharing Tim's secrets, but she's not above trying to give a little nudge -a full-forced elbow to the gut really- to encourage Tim in revealing more about himself to the family.

"What'd you do? Walk into a wall repeatedly?" Steph sprawls out on the lunch table Tim's sitting at. Her eyes alert even as her body language screams how little she cares about his answer. She ignores her own stellar cafeteria food as she tries to poke the bruises along Tim's face. He swats her hand away and stirs the pudding cup one of the lunch ladies had given him for free.

"No," Tim rolls his eyes and forces down a spoonful of chalky chocolate goo. The cup is past it's sell by date by at least a year but eating it doesn't stretch the bruises on his face to badly. "I got mugged."

Steph narrows her eyes at him. She already thinks he's getting abused at home thanks to a few other incidents on the job. He's fairly sure she's stopped by his place a time or two and seen his father drinking. Putting two and two together to come up with a logical conclusion that's really not the case here, and Tim's entirely certain that he doesn't want to know what Babs did to keep Robin from showing up at his home for a little 'talk' with his father. "Uh huh. Did you report it?"

"Report what?" Tim gives her a disbelieving look. It's _Gotham_. No one reports muggings unless the mugger's spitting blood up from one of Steph's infamous punches. "That he stole all five of my dollar bills? I'd rather make a report on the money stolen from me at the movie theaters for really bad films."

Steph snorts a laugh. Incredulous and a little impressed because she has seen his home. She knows what side of Gotham Tim is from, the money side, and she always seems to be impressed when Tim doesn't act like it. Tim thinks they could make good friends. That they'd have a lot to talk about if he ever gets up the courage to spill his secrets.

Satisfied, or not, she picks her tray up and goes to mingle with her usual group of friends.

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Tim would like to say that his dreams leave off after that. That the pain in his back when he jerks off in the shower keeps him from thinking about Hood.

It's Jason's name that echoes off the tile though when Tim comes. It's images of a younger Jason overlaid with the remembered sensation of the older Jason's touch that push Tim over. Because while Jason is the one person Tim's never actually met, he's the Robin that Tim had followed for the longest. Taken the most pictures of, following just behind in a carefully planned patrol that never was as dangerous as it looked when Robin was swooping out of the night sky. Learning all about the boy through the distance afforded to him by his camera lens.

It was a transference of the crush he never fully admitted to having -at that time anyway- on Dick Grayson to the newest Robin. The one he saw getting chosen by Batman. A crush that quickly turned into more as Tim hit puberty and started having his more erotic dreams that left him with no doubt as to his preferences. Something simple and mortifying that he'd thought he'd put to rest by the time Stephanie started making her rounds as Robin.

He'd thought wrong apparently. Tim rinses his hand off and shuts off the shower. If anything, things have only gotten worse, and Tim has no one to blame for that but himself.

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There's a knife on the windowsill. Tim eyes it as he enters the room that Oracle has been renting out for the past week. The window was closed when he left the night before and Tim has a hard time believing someone would break in just to leave a weapon lying out like a gift.

"Take it," Red Hood says from the shadows furthest away from the door. The white lenses of his helmet gleaming faintly.

Tim startles back. One foot outside the door as he stares hard at the masked man in the shadows. He's sitting in the room's only other window. One foot inside but mostly leaning out. Ready to leave from the tension in his body. To run.

"Take the knife, Tim," there's a soft catch before his name. The hint of a different syllable. Words held back from being spoken that Tim catches because he's paying attention to -not Jason, Tim reminds himself not to use that name- Hood. Alert and ready for anything. "And next time," his voice is low and deadly serious, "next time you slide it between my ribs, alright?"

Shocked, Tim darts a look to the knife. It's long and thin. A deadly looking blade that's probably designed for piercing kevlar. Tim eyes Hood up and down. His head is angled away, but not far enough that he wouldn't be able to look at Tim. At the sickly yellows and purples of the bruises along his jaw. The man is stiff and his voice is very insistent as he tells Tim. No. As he _gives_ Tim permission to _kill_ him.

Tim feels like he can't breathe past the sudden lump in his throat, because he _went_ to Jason's funeral. Was there when he was _buried_. He knows what that looks like and Jason's asking-

This is an apology, Tim realizes. A _shitty_ apology to make up for the bruises on Tim's face and back.

"No," Tim's angry as he steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. Throwing both bolts and going to set up his gear. He ignores the knife and the way his still aching back itches at leaving it exposed to the man behind him. A perfectly natural reaction that only makes Tim angrier.

It's a cold and furious anger that Tim knows comes from his mother's side of the family. Something that wraps around and freezes him solid in a protective layer of numbness. Locking up any other emotion but the anger and contempt he feels as he ignores Hood too.

"Just," Hood hisses a breath in before letting it out in a sigh. "Just take it, Tim. Please."

"No," Tim reaches out and flicks the knife aside to make room for a small tripod on the windowsill. It clatters to the floor and Tim kicks it away. He's got a job to do and he's not going to play this juvenile game just to pacify Hood's guilt. "You've no _right_ asking me to do that."

"I'm not asking you to-" There's a thump and Tim can feel the boards shift under Hood's weight as he moves. There's a metallic sound and the knife is placed back onto the windowsill right next to Tim's hand. Hood is a solid presence beside him. Looming as much as he can without being actively threatening. "Just take the knife, Tim."

Tim takes a perverse sort of pleasure in flicking the thing back down and kicking it the other way. He turns his head down to his work and doesn't give Hood another look. Ignoring him like a child throwing a tantrum, not worth the attention at all. "No."

Hood makes a frustrated sound before going after the knife again. Coming back and trying to _hold_ it in front of his face. "Tim, take it."

"No," it's a strong word. A satisfying word to say as Hood crouches in front of him. The knife held loosely in his hand and his shoulders slumped in something like defeat.

"Please," Hood sounds pleading. A little desperate as he reaches out with his free hand. It hovers briefly in front of Tim's face before dropping. "Please, Tim, just-"

"No," _Jason_, the name catches on his tongue and he deliberately doesn't say either of his names. He hopes the man can hear the forced down sound. "No, I won't do it. You're not allowed to make that decision for me," Tim frowns and looks away briefly. There's not enough time in the world for Tim to explain to him how stupid, how insulting and painful it is for Jason to ask Tim to kill him. Not enough time to hurt him back the way that Tim's been hurt.

Tim reaches out slowly and presses a finger to the area where Jason's lips would be under the mask. He stares into the white lenses and forces out a slight sneer. His voice cold and hard as he says, "Find another way to say you're sorry because this is just pathetic."

Hood is still and silent until Tim pulls back. His finger sliding off the mask with an audible sound. There's another sound, too muffled by the mask for Tim to identify with any degree of certainty before Hood rises to his feet and leaves. He takes the knife with him.

Tim finishes the job and uploads his pictures. Numb and still angry as he retreats home. Sure that he won't see Red Hood or Jason Todd again.

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Tim's cold and angry for days. Furious with everything until the hard shell chips away and he can breathe again. Think again. _Feel_ again.

There was a reason why Tim did everything he could to avoid making Janet Drake angry.

She never exploded. She never yelled. She'd just go cold and rigid. Her face turning into a sneer as her eyes bored through him. Making him feel like the most worthless, stupid person on the planet. Her voice going clipped and harsh as she effortlessly flayed him wide open with only a few words. Mild seeming words that always managed to dig their way in his mind and heart. And it was never a onetime event. Never over and done with so easily. That anger had lasted for days. His mother coming back again and again to pick at the slowly scabbing wounds with more words and disdain.

Tim had always thought he'd rather die than make his mother angry. He thinks, now, that he'd rather face her anger ten times over than ever feel like that again.

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"You knew," Babs says one night as they're working on replacing some wiring that's been going bad.

Tim doesn't waste breath asking pointless questions. He'd been there when Batman and Nightwing had called to inform Babs of their recent run in with Red Hood. With the certainty that Batman hadn't wanted to believe even after Babs had double checked his results.

"Yeah," Tim winces, safe behind the cover of her main desk. "It, uh, didn't seem like something I was supposed to share."

Babs is silent, and it's a weighted silence that says all she will ever say about pain and loss. Tim works as slow as he can get away with before sliding out and facing her.

Babs looks old. Her shoulders are slumped and weariness etches lines into her face that shouldn't be there at all. Her hands grip the armrests of her chair with enough force that Tim can see the veins in them. Her eyes are closed and her expression is pained. "I'm sorry," Tim says and feels totally incapable of doing anything right in that moment.

"It's alright," Babs says after a long pause and in such an even voice that Tim knows it really isn't. She opens her eyes and visibly lets it go. Moving forward until she can reach up and touch a finger just along the edge of his jaw which is now unblemished skin again. "Was that-?"

"He," Tim grimaces, "didn't react well to me, um, knowing who he was."

"Oh?" Babs' tone is playful even as her face is serious. "And how did _you_ get a good enough look to recognize him?"

"Um," Tim blushes a bright and damning red when Babs brings the thumb of one hand up to press pointedly against her lips. "Yeah, that."

"Should I be worried that one of my best operatives is going soft on a criminal?" Babs asks the question lightly, but in a way that he knows is totally her making a point because- Well, because Babs knows. She was the first one to get the whole story of his stalking days out of him, and is the only person to have ever seen the photos Tim took when he was younger.

"Probably," Tim grimaces as he remembers Hood's silent retreat the last time they'd met, "probably not."

"No?"

"It'd be stupid, wouldn't it?" Tim asks as he coils up the fried wires into a small coil. "In more ways than one."

"Yes, it would," Babs agrees with the sad faraway look that says she's remembering things long past. "But you'll end up regretting it anyway."

Her answer and subtle encouragement isn't a surprise. Babs' one gripe with Red Hood has always been that she didn't know who he was or what he wanted, and now? Now she does, and everything else doesn't matter so much to her.

Out of everyone who works in Gotham, Oracle is the most realistic. Tim's heard enough arguments between her and Dinah over lethal methods to know that. She doesn't draw the same hard line most of the others draw at it. She sees it as a tool to be used to control situations. A last resort, of course, but still an option. Killing has a place in Gotham as far as Oracle is concerned, and Tim thinks that not all of the information given to Red Hood lately has been for a monetary price.

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Tim listens to the first audio clips that Oracle sends him and none of the rest.

It's too hard listening to Jason scream at Bruce, scream at Dick. To throw back everything that's hurt them so much for the past few years. To hear the raw and open wound in his voice. It's too easy to imagine that voice being aimed at him.

Tim doesn't agree with Jason's accusations though. Batman can't kill, no matter how much he might want to. That's a belief that hasn't changed one bit in the years he's worked under Oracle. A single bullet could save countless lives. Tim knows this, has seen the numbers Babs runs on the really bad nights. Jason's right about that, and has been proving it since he came back.

It's Gotham though, and the city would crumble if Batman gave in. Tim wonders how -as close as they had been before- Jason can't see that simple fact.

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Tim's not expecting to see Red Hood as he eases into the warehouse. He's been keeping as informed of the man's whereabouts as he can. Keeping carefully away from the areas that he shows up in the most. He's had reliable reports that Hood is out on the docks playing tag with some cartels trying to sneak shipments in.

Tim's going to have to have a word with those reliable sources.

The warehouse is in chaos. The supposedly peaceful meeting of two mafia families falling apart even as Tim got into position to get updated photos on some of the players. Instead of getting the new pictures that Oracle needs Tim finds himself huddling in the very inadequate shadows of the warehouse as shouts and shots ring out below him. Unconscious men and screaming men and shooting men pepper the floor below. And Red Hood is in the middle of it all. Taking on both sides and _winning_.

Tim's fingers itch to take photos, but it's an old urge that's given way to practicality. They have more than enough footage of Red Hood fighting, and Tim only has one head that needs to be bullet free for as long as possible. His best bet is to stay still and wait for this to all blow over. Which will only be a matter of minutes with the way Hood is ripping through the ranks.

He thought he'd seen Red Hood being vicious and angry before, but it's really nothing on what Tim's seeing now. He's shouting something that Tim can't make out over the noise. Hood isn't pulling any punches. He's going for the jugulars and shooting the vitals. There's more corpses on the floor than unconscious men at this point.

The shouts die down and the ricochet of bullets ends. Tim waits tensely for three minutes. Listening hard for any sound, looking out for any movement. There's nothing to hear though and Tim can't really afford to wait any longer.

He makes his way off the catwalk. Sliding down a rusty ladder and landing quietly on his feet. On the floor he can't see much. He listens for half a minute before moving. Weaving his way through the shipping containers to the small door he'd picked to get in earlier. He's moving between a tall stack of containers when a shift in the air sends him diving to the ground and rolling. A hollow thud echoes through the warehouse and Tim's sprinting. Running full out for the five seconds it takes for Hood to tackle him.

Tim shouts in pain as hey slide across the ground and slams his elbow back. Feeling it grind into the armor and giving him the room he needs to twist under Hood. Get himself some space and leverage to exploit the very few weaknesses he's seen in the man over the months.

Hood's frozen though, one hand not putting as much pressure as it needs to hold Tim down and the other pointing a gun straight at his head. Tim stares up the wrong end of a gun and tries not to look as unnerved as he feels. The near silence stretches out between them, and Tim calms down enough to start thinking of escape routes and strategies. "Red Hood."

The gun is steady but Hood is panting. Harsh breath pushing through hidden vents in the helmet and sounding uncannily similar to the breathing of Darth Vader at the moment. Tim bites his tongue to keep the laugh in. He reaches up slowly and pushes the gun to the side. Breathing easier when Hood allows it. Tim eases himself out from under the man. Feeling the grit of the floor against his skinned palms as he gets far enough away to sit up.

Hood is still and silent, and there's something off about it. About him. The smell, faint, of rotten eggs is Tim's first clue. A closer look shows that Hood is covered with a residue. Something gritty and faintly yellow. Tim swallows and doesn't touch it. Doesn't make any sudden moves even as his hand creeps towards his phone. "Hood? Are you-" Sane? Hallucinating? Tim's willing to bet everything he has that the man is hopped up on fear gas, and Tim's recalling the vague rumors of Crane setting up along the docks now.

Tim presses a button on his phone and Oracle's computerized voice immediately splits the night, "What do you need?"

Hood jerks. His entire body going rigid and the gun coming halfway back before freezing again. Tim mashes the volume button and calmly says, "Red Hood's been dosed with fear gas. He took out both sides of my meet and greet tonight. I don't," Hood's head is moving. Slowly. Tracking something in the shadows behind Tim with his eyes and gun, "Think he's entirely here right now."

Tim flinches when the gun snaps to the side, and Hood flinches back in an obvious reaction. His head snapping back to fix on Tim as he freezes again. It's encouraging. A little. That he's reacting with Tim. Reacting to Tim being _threatened_ by him.

"Can you get away?" Oracle immediately asks, and her tone is low enough not to set Hood off again.

"No?" Tim edges back even further. Aiming toward a slot between two containers that Hood's bulk will have a hard time navigating. He gets just out of arms reach before the man reacts. Dropping the gun he's been holding and grabbing Tim by an ankle to bodily drag him closer. He pulls two more guns and sort of crouches over Tim. Back to monitoring the shadows. "Yeah, definitely not able to get away. Um, I think he's trying to protect me."

"Cute," Oracle is silent. Tim imagines he can hear Babs' fingers flying across her keyboard. "Can you disarm him? The only people with antidotes aren't the people he's most fond of at the moment."

"Sure," Tim eyes Hood's weapons doubtfully. The man used up a lot on his fight already, but that doesn't mean much when he likes to carry his own personal armory around on his body. Tim sets the phone down and reaches for a gun at his waist. Hood doesn't react as Tim draws it, checks the safety, and tucks it into his bag. "It'll take a while though."

The strange click that signifies laughter makes Hood spin. Tim takes the opportunity to nab the Ramboesque knife from the back of his belt and tuck it away. "The boys all do so love their toys."

"I don't think your other 'boys' have ones quite like this," Tim mutters as he begins to remove everything dangerous from Hood. And that does mean everything. Hood doesn't have a single thing on him that can't be used lethally. Tim's bag is nearly full when Hood is down to the two guns he's holding. Still alert, flinching at random moments, and not looking any closer to giving up his protective stance. Tim licks his lips and reaches for the closest one. Resting his hand on the barrel lightly.

"Hood? Can you," a light tug only made the man hold on tighter. A distressed noise coming out of the helmet as he pulls back sharply. Hand pulling back for a blow that he doesn't let loose. Tim doesn't let go, tries to get a better hold of the weapon. "Hood. Ho- Jason," he goes still at the sound of his name. The gun slipping. "Jason, give me the gun. Please."

Jason lets go and Tim barely snatches the second gun out of the air. Jason sways and sinks down to sit on the floor. Tim zips up his bag while keeping an eye on him, "Ok, he's unarmed. For all the good that might do."

"I have a ten minute ETA on help. Can you get me some vitals to send them?"

The new armor covers Jason's neck. The edge held down by the helmet. Tim remembers the last time they were in an alley though and reaches out to carefully feel under the edge of it at Jason's jaw. There's a slight give and Tim presses until he hears a click. The seams appearing and widening as Tim carefully pulls the thing apart. Pulling it up and off of Jason's head.

"Oh," Tim gasps immediately. The helmet nearly falling from his hands as he takes in Jason's face.

His eyes are blown and dazed. Face contorted into a rictus of fear, but it's the blood that has Tim worried. "He's bleeding," Tim tells Oracle. Fingers running over Jason's face and looking for any wounds. "From his nose and mouth. I," Tim wipes some blood off on his pants and remembers to get his fingers down to check the pulse in the man's throat, "I can't find any wound to cause it. It might be internal? His pulse is out of control too. It's not steady at all."

Oracle is silent for several long minutes. Tim licks his lips and keeps one hand on Jason's pulse and the other on his shoulder. Jason's looking just over Tim's shoulder now. Eyes flickering only slightly. He's not really responding at all to Tim's touch. Not even when he reaches up to pinch the skin under his chin.

"Alright, change of plans," Oracle comes back. Voice lacking any of the emotion that would let Tim figure out how bad this might be. "There's a safe house nearby with a functioning lab, and he needs to be there now. Can you get him there while I divert the help?"

"Yeah," Tim answers automatically. He pulls away to shove the helmet into his bag and shrug into the straps. It's heavy but nowhere near as bad as Jason. The man rises slowly as Tim pulls him up. Sways until Tim pulls an arm over his shoulder and takes some of his weight. "Guide me there?"

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Jason's dead weight against Tim as they stagger down the streets. Tim's losing feeling in the arm not holding Jason up. The strap of his bag cutting into his flesh with the weight of all the weapons. Something slides slowly down the side of his face as he's forced to duck into another alley to avoid notice. He hopes it's sweat and not Jason's blood.

Oracle is a comforting hum coming from his phone. An occasional correction of his course in her robotic voice that makes Jason twitch every time. The only sign that the man is still even aware of reality.

"On your left," Oracle says and Tim turns towards what looks like a condemned two story business. "Take the stairs down."

There are stairs on one side. Cutting down into the earth and leading to a basement door. Tim nearly groans as Jason's legs buckle on the first step and he has to throw them both backwards to keep from falling head first down them. He manages to get them down to the door in an only somewhat controlled slide that ends with him tripping and falling against the door.

The knobless door.

"Oracle," Tim grunts and that _is_ blood on his face, "the door. How-"

Tim nearly breaks his nose on concrete when it swings open. Jason's weight over him is gone and Tim gets a real good look at the man slung over Nightwing's back before a voice Tim's only heard from a distance before _intones_, "Leave."

The door slams shut and Tim barely scrambles away in time to avoid it. Several locks engage with resounding clicks and Tim's left sitting alone on wet concrete. Listening to his heart pound in the sudden silence.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Doubting Gets You Places  
**

**A Word**: I suggest going to my profile and clicking the link to the Ao3 link instead of reading this chapter. Parts have been removed to keep in line with 's rating system, and this work can now only be read unedited elsewhere.

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Tim's halfway home when it finally registers to his dazed mind that his heart rate is elevated beyond normal. That the multiple bus switches he's pulling have less to do with reasonable paranoia and everything to do with the way he's half convinced the shadows are watching him.

The silence when Tim calls it into Oracle speaks eloquently about future ass rippings, and Tim's comforted enough by the thought that it won't be his butt getting chewed to force himself home. A straight line of bus stops that make his skin crawl.

The lights are on when he gets home and a noise indicates semi-wakefulness on his father's part. Tim slips quickly up the stairs. Going for his -open- bedroom door.

Black Canary smiles warmly at him from the well lit room. Waiting patiently for Tim's eyes to stop darting around before holding up an injector. "It's standard gas is what we're being told. Red Hood just got an overdose of it and it's not reacting well to him."

Tim sits on his bed and offers his arm. His bag clanks to the floor as a brief pinch sends the antidote into his system. The relief and comfort he feels does nothing against the way his heart races and skin prickles. He only flinches a little when Dinah ruffles his hair.

"Give it a bit. It'll kick in soon, kiddo," she looks away. A slight shift if her eyes to one of the cameras in the room. "She says everything's fine. They've got him stable."

"Thanks, Dinah," Tim lists sideways on his bed. A strange lassitude seeping into his limbs. It's unnatural but he doesn't fear it because everywhere it goes it drains the panic inside him. "Thank-"

"Get some sleep, Tim," and Tim wishes he could keep his eyes open because he's never been tucked into bed before. Fingers brush through his hair soothingly and Tim can completely understand why so many of the Arrows refer to her as their mother. "That's it. Just let it go and-"

_Get some sleep._

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Tim wakes up overly warm and absolutely comfortable. A breeze runs across his face from the open window. It nags at his mind. Pushing fretfully against the overwhelming desire to not move again. Ever. Dragging Tim forcefully to wakefulness because Dinah _wouldn't leave the window open._

There are fingers resting on his neck. Calloused as they run across the skin, two fingers never far from pressing lightly against the pulse of his throat. Tim's right arm is wrapped around a body, his face pressed into a leg. He can smell gun oil and smoke ground into the material he's nosing, a buckle digging uncomfortably into his cheek.

"I'm sorry," Jason says because he's monitoring Tim's pulse and knows he's awake. His voice is rough and hoarse. Probably from all that screaming Tim couldn't understand. "Don't know how that fucker got the jump on me, but..."

Jason trails off into an embarrassed silence. He probably looks disgruntled though. Like Grumpy cat. Tim hides his smile against Jason's leg. "It's ok," Tim pauses and decides he might as well stay still. While Jason seems to not mind that they're touching. His fingers wandering more freely down his neck and just under the neckline of his shirt. "I'm sorry too."

"For what?" Jason sounds baffled.

"For getting so mad about," Tim sighs and pulls away to roll onto his back. Because hiding his face is kind of ridiculous and cowardly to boot. Jason kind of deserves Tim to look him in the face for this apology. "The knife. I shouldn't have said-"

"Forget it," and Jason does look uncomfortable. It's only the third time Tim's seen Jason's face so close, but the emotion is easily read off his face. Jason's looking away scowling, but his fingers are still light and careful. "It was stupid. I get it," Jason shakes his head once. Harshly and that's it. The end of that conversation and argument.

Tim accepts it, because anything more will only hurt them both. He can see that now. They've both said they're sorry and it's best to go on instead of dwelling. Tim shifts and pulls himself up to sit next to Jason. Turned to the side so he can reach out and trace the faded line of blood from his nose, around his mouth. It's gritty and sunk into the few creases of his face. "How you feeling?"

"I'll be fine," Jason tilts his head into Tim's touch. The seriousness draining fast as he gives Tim an intent grin. Reaching up to catch Tim's hand, pull his fingers in to brush his lips. "_Much_ better now, baby snitch."

"Strange how that works," Tim says through a dry throat as Jason thoroughly kisses each one of his fingers. Nipping gently at the pads and not letting Tim look away for a single second. "I think, you've got a promise to fill if you're up for it though."

Jason chuckles and lets his hand go. Reaching out to wind bare fingers into Tim's hair. Gentle and insistent as he pulls Tim into a sweet kiss. Soft pressing of their lips together as Tim shifts and moves until he's straddling Jason. Sitting on his thighs and pressing close to his chest. Their lips sliding perfectly against each other as Jason's other arm wraps low around Tim's back.

Tim sighs into the kiss, his lips parting slightly and Jason takes the opening. Pressing with his tongue into the seem. The sweetness burning away in sharp curls of fire as he sucks on Tim's tongue. It's slick and wet and Tim's fingers slip into the neck of Jason's shirt, tugging to get more. Jason moans and the noise vibrates through their mouths as he twists. Flipping Tim under him and crushing him into the bed with his full weight.

* * *

_[Obvious break for the content being removed due to 's policies that don't allow mature content on the sight. Rules I will follow. For this missing section you may go to my profile and follow the offsite link to the unedited story.]_

* * *

Tim pulls away from Jason's lips and looks over at the clock on his desk. He's got four hours before school starts, and he can't legally miss anymore days without someone coming in to talk to his father. Something Tim wants to avoid until he can get Babs to change his attendance records again. Which means Tim has two hours to get ready before making the trip across the city by public transportation.

Jason presses a hard kiss to Tim's neck, sucking slightly and making Tim forget his calculations. "You need a shower, babe," Jason huffs a laugh as he shifts above Tim, pulling back far enough to smirk down at him. "We _both_ need one actually."

Two hours, Tim thinks as he pushes Jason out of bed, is going to be plenty of time.

.

.

Tim's stuffing the homework he hasn't even started in his bag when the glint of the camera catches his eye. Tim pauses, and _looks_ at it in numb horror before the clock reminds him of the time and how very little he wants to get caught in the morning rush hour.

He'll have all the time he needs to properly dread the _talk_ he knows is coming from Babs in first period.

.

.

Steph's tray clatters as it slams on top of the table. Tim jumps at the noise. Reflexively hunching in on himself to the left. The only angle he's been able to find that somewhat hides the glaringly obvious hickey on his throat. The one that he'd managed to forget was there until the whispers in first period registered. Tim's gotten more smirks and looks than he's comfortable with because of it and the day is only half over. Steph doesn't seem to notice though and Tim blinks over at the girl who is doing a remarkable job of eating her chicken nuggets angrily.

"Uh," Tim blinks again and wonders what had set her off this time. She wasn't dating any assholes -the disturbing correlation between her boyfriends and the level of their assholishnes is something Tim had once made a chart about for Babs- as far as Tim can recall. Even if she was, that was something the girl was more likely to vent about to the gaggle of girls she called friends. Not the random quiet kid she checked in on out of some sense of duty every week or so. "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Steph bit out. Harsh and venomous as she turns a full forced glare on Tim. Leaving absolutely no doubt in Tim's mind who she's angry with while also leaving him in the dark about what _he_ did to upset her. "Why wouldn't I be perfectly and utterly fine, Tim? What could possibly give you any reason to think that there might be something wrong with me?"

_The fact that you're biting my head off?_ Tim's eying the two exits. Both to far for comfort right now. He'll have a better chance escaping through the kitchen if he needs to. "The vein throbbing in your forehead?"

"It does not!" Steph's eyes widen and her hand flies up to press against her face. A worried look pushing out the anger.

Tim presses his lips tightly together but some noise escapes and Steph's ire is back in a flash. Steph glares some more and reaches into her backpack at her feet. Pulling out a small sheet and sliding it across the table towards Tim. Tim reaches for it and recognizes the slick feel of a photograph. The back of the paper is white and unmarked by any manufacturer or developer's name. Tim warily flips it over.

It's a picture of Jason holding Tim. In his bed obviously taken sometime last night. Tim feels his face heating up at the way Jason, asleep and unaware in the picture, is curled up around Tim over the blankets. One hand cradling the back of Tim's head and his nose buried in Tim's hair. It's hard to imagine a more intimate pose that didn't involve fewer clothing.

How Steph got it isn't something that Tim really wants to consider, but the thoughts curled through his mind anyway and the blush drained fast from his face as he reluctantly looks up. Steph looks like an enraged cat. Seconds from hissing and spitting and maybe taking a few swipes. "Um, thanks?"

"You work for him!" Steph hisses, and that's not fair at all. Her venom when dealing with Jason is understandable. The man doesn't think much of the new Robin after all and has made no secret about it in the few times they've met.

"I don't!" Tim bites back. Voice rising before he consciously lowers it. A few people looking towards them with vague interest. "I work for- for Barbara!"

"Then what do you call that?" Steph nods at the photo that Tim's carefully holding.

"Well it sure isn't work," Tim mutters. Looking at the photo one last time before slipping it into his bag. Carefully placing it in a pocket it won't fall out of.

Steph snorts and her anger eases. It's a slight break in her anger but from what Tim's seen before a slight break is all it takes.

"I wouldn't _mind_ being paid for that, but that seems kind of greedy to me," Tim continues off handed. Steph's lips twitch. Tim opens a ketchup packet and dumps it out on his tray. "Though I'm thinking about asking for some sort of hazard bonus to pay for the therapy I'm going to need."

Steph laughs. Tim drags a few droopy fries through ketchup and waits for her to calm down. She points and accusing chicken nugget at Tim. "I'm still mad at you, and not just for that."

"I've gathered that," Tim relaxes a little and studies Steph as she goes back to her meal. The questions about why she'd be risking revealing herself to some random kid attached to Jason rising in importance again. Babs, is Tim's first thought. Is probably the only correct one, but Tim's not going to assume right off the bat. "So, I'm guessing you got the picture from Babs?"

"Dick," Steph snorts, her smile becoming amused. "The asshole knocked him out last night, and he freaked out until Babs gave him a location," this smile is grudging and filled with a lot more amusement. "He took that picture," and Tim's going to properly freak out over the thought of Dick Grayson watching him sleep with Jason later, "and came home looking like a zombie. I don't think I've ever seen that kind of expression on Dick _or_ Bruce's face before."

Steph looks all kinds of amused and self-satisfied as she recalls it. "Or even the looks they got _after_ Babs explained all about you, stalker boy."

Tim drops the fry he's holding, not really all that hungry anymore. Years of keeping to himself down the drain. All because of one infuriatingly attractive man. "Please tell me I'm not going to get a visit in the middle of the night from your Dad."

"According to Babs you're never even home at midnight," Steph's sly grin softens and goes honest. "You know, I always thought that your Dad-"

"I know," Tim cuts that confession off fast with a shrug. Tim's not up for talking about that at all. Tim's under no illusion that he had the ideal childhood, or even the best of parents. He knows that neglect is every bit as bad as physical abuse. That words can be just as harmful as fists. Tim doesn't really believe he's had a bad life all things considered, he's actually thankful for the opportunities it has afforded him. The last thing he wants is for Steph's worry about "You weren't very subtle about it."

"And you let me continue to think it, you jerk," Steph kicks him under the table and Tim yelps. She's wearing sneakers but Tim's not ashamed to admit the girl is a lot stronger than he is. "Do you know how many times I almost had some," she raises her right hand and curls it into a threatening fist, "_words_ with your old man?"

"He's in a wheelchair!" Tim protests and ignores the fuzzy feeling that makes him want to smile. Robin was a good person. She protects total strangers most nights. Wanting to go the extra mile for someone she sees everyday at school is nothing.

"So's Babs," Steph points out blithely, "and she can handle herself just fine."

"Babs is Babs," Tim laughs, because there are people out there who underestimate the woman, and Tim's seen several of them get their butts handed to them with an ease that Tim envies. "My Dad is just-"

"Drunk? Stupid? Worthless?" Steph prompts when Tim trails off. Her smile is sharp now and looks like something she might have learned from Babs.

_Yes_. Tim sighs and drops his head onto his hand. Looking idly at the clock above one of the cafeteria doors. Watching the seconds tick down to the bell. This right here is exactly what he wanted to not talk about. "It doesn't matter. If he wasn't the way he is then I couldn't do the job I do. _You_ know about that."

Steph does a good job covering up her flinch at the reminder of her own life. Her own Dad was what set Steph on the course she ended up taking, but it was really her mother's inattention that allowed it to happen. Tim's not that familiar with the complicated relationship Steph has with her mother. Just the vague comments made by Babs when the two meet for carefully monitored blocks of time.

He knows that Agnes Crystal Brown is a recovering addict with a better living situation than most people get due entirely to discrete Wayne interference. He knows she has a standing meetup with Stephanie every Friday at a waffle house. More than that is not something that makes it into the files.

"You're definitely on my shit list for the month, Timmy," it's a low blow, and one that Tim doesn't fully understand from her end, but it gets her to back off the topic with a grimace. "Do you know how difficult it's been for me, being what I am, and not having someone to talk to about it? Someone my own age?"

"I'm sure your friends in San Fransisco would be happy to hear that," Tim says. The Teen Titans are a relatively new group, but Tim knows enough about the people in it from their failed days as Young Justice. From all the buzz and news media that had been centered around them.

"Not the _same_," Steph reaches across the table to jab a finger in his face. "They're _metas_, they're not from _here_, they don't _get_ it, Tim."

Tim doesn't really get it, but he's Gotham born and raised. The closest he's ever been to a meta is when he took refuge with Ivy after the earthquake that nearly destroyed Gotham so utterly. The gleam in Steph's eyes as the bell rings to signal the end of their lunch period assure him he'll learn.

.

.

"You told them," Tim accuses as he finds Babs in the kitchen. Cookies and mugs already waiting for him. He's had the rest of the school day to reflect on the conversation with Steph and has decided that he's upset with Babs.

"It was necessary," Babs states as she reads something off of a hand held pad. She doesn't look apologetic in the least, and Tim wasn't really expecting her to. "I had to give some sort of an explanation after ripping them apart for leaving you on the street."

"So, you just told them the truth," Tim grumbles working up some scathing points that've been hovering in his mind since lunch as he helps himself to a few cookies before pulling out one of the two chairs Babs keeps around. There's a rectangular box on it, and Tim stares at the unfamiliar brand of personal lubrication. The cookie going tasteless in his mouth.

Babs looks serene as she stares straight ahead. A glint in her eyes that Tim knows all too well. It's a threat and a promise. Further talk about Babs telling all about him will be paid for in talks about Jason and the inevitable merciless teasing.

"Touche," Tim pockets the tube on the chair before sitting down, and reaches under the table for the second one waiting on the other chair because he's not _too_ ashamed to pass up free lube.

.

.


End file.
